Darkvision

"I do feel much better, Kiril," said Thormud in an irritated tone.

The dwarf sat propped up on the small bed, his back against a wooden headboard carved with still more elaborate designs. "I'd like to go down to the plaza tonight to talk with the Qaherans." "You heard Fadheela's father. You've caught some sort of dolor, and you need bed rest if you want to shake it off." "But…" "Tonight, you sleep." The geomancer sighed. "Perhaps that would be best. I am strangely fatigued." Kiril didn't tell the dwarf the entire diagnosis.

Fadheela's father felt that the dwarf might be suffering from some sort of magical curse. It was a potential explanation for Thormud's lack of response to the healer's spell of purification. "Damn right, it's for the best. Don't worry. I'll tell you everything that happens.

Maybe they know something about what we're looking for. Maybe they've seen something strange out in the desert." The dwarf nodded but was already blinking his eyes. He fell asleep a moment later. Kiril pulled up his blanket, strapped Angul to her belt, and departed the small chamber. Fadheela waited for her in the foyer of the apartment, one of many similar apartments on both sides, above, and below. The best apartments faced the central plaza of Al Qahera, and as a healer, Fadheela's father enjoyed some privilege. "How is your friend?"

Fadheela asked. "Better. He's asleep. Maybe I'll take him something to eat later." "Good-that sounds good!" Fadheela clapped happily, then reached forward to grasp one of Kiril's hands. The swordswoman, out of surprise, allowed the desert elf to complete the motion without losing a limb. Fadheela said, "Come with me, then. Everyone's down in the plaza. You'll just love meeting everyone, I promise!" The girl pulled, and Kiril consciously forced herself not to resist the tug out of the apartment. They walked onto the wide balcony two stories above the tiled floor of the central courtyard and looked down. Since she'd rested in Fadheela's rooms, answered her father's questions, and washed off several days of travel, the lamps in the courtyard had been turned down, dousing the corners of the chamber in warm shadow. A large bonfire blazed in a stone-lined firepit. Kiril traced the smoke as it rose up past their balcony and floated up a few more stories before exiting through a large cavity in the ceiling. The odor of something succulent roasting over the flames pulled her gaze back down to the fire, where young Qaherans slowly turned several spits. Others were setting up large plank tables and stools. A group of elves tuned up flutes, sitars, drums, and other instruments. Well over a hundred people gathered in the plaza-and perhaps double that number. "What's all this?" Kiril asked, an anxious note creeping into her voice. Her enthusiastic guide smiled and said, "We do this every night-don't worry, you needn't fear being singled out." Kiril nodded, still suspicious. Fadheela pulled her along the balcony toward a stairway that spiraled down to the plaza, and whispered as they neared the bottom, "But your presence is unique, and we'd all love to hear something of your journey!" Kiril muttered, "Blood, I'm sure you would." Essam met them at the bottom of the stairs. "How is your stout friend? In Mas'ud's able hands he must be doing better, yes?" "Much better," Kiril assured him. No need to discuss curses in polite company, she thought. "How joyous!" her host enthused. "Now come, I've reserved a place of honor for you by the fire. It is always cold down here in Al Qahera, despite the desert above, and you'll be glad to sit close." Kiril just nodded. She drew most of the eyes in the plaza as Essam and Fadheela led her through the throng. Her neck and cheeks warmed. She did not enjoy being the center of attention. They made their way to several stools near the fire, as Essam promised. She dropped onto her stool immediately, then saw that everyone else remained standing. She yearned for a pull from her flask. With steely determination, she kept her hands at her sides, but the flush of embarrassment blossomed visibly across her checks. The Qaherans bowed their heads in a moment of silence. Once concluded, the stillness was shattered by laughter, loud cheers, a cacophony of instruments, and a few songs. Various spirited discussions picked up where they'd left off before the hush. Most everyone sat down at the tables, Kiril was relieved to see. And so the evening progressed. Portions of burned meat, burned vegetables, and burned fungus were pulled off the spits and sent circulating around the tables. "Burned" was apparently the preferred style of cooking in Al Qahera. Between courses came musical interludes, stories, and acts of skill that included a knife juggler and a puppeteer. Large jugs of water were sent around, cold and fresh, apparently just pulled up from the central well. To Kiril's jaded throat, the water went down like the finest Sildeyuir vintage. It wasn't long before she found herself listening happily to the music, hanging on the words of the storytellers, and laughing uproariously at several extemporaneous acts put on by the desert dwellers. Essam turned to her and said loudly, "Tell us a story, Kiril!" She stood up, and with uncharacteristic ope

Kiril shrugged. "I don't know for certain. Thormud called it a 'splinter' that infected the earth. It has something to do with the purple crystal-every threat we've faced has borne a purple crystal."

Exclamations broke out among her audience. "What is it? What do you know?" demanded Kiril. Essam calmed the Qaherans' outburst and told her, "Perhaps we know something of the thing you seek in the deep desert. It is new, and it is dangerous. We call it the Storm Spike."

CHAPTER TWENTY

The vengeance taker, wizard, and Datharathi fugitive disembarked at Huorm. Eined sca